


A Big Misunderstanding

by Robespierre



Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robespierre/pseuds/Robespierre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leary knew that something was bothering Bekowsky and decided to confront him at his apartment.  </p><p> <i>From this kinkmeme prompt:  He's Leary's "favorite Pole" for a reason!</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Big Misunderstanding

Stefan Bekowsky was pissed. No, more than pissed. Furious. Livid, even.

Somehow he had managed to drive back to the station without flying into a murderous rage, simply nodding and making polite noises as Phelps talked and talked (something about films and dimensions – he wasn’t really sure exactly what the kid meant). 

It was all Phelps’ fault. Ever since he showed up, everybody had acted as though Bekowsky didn’t exist. The other detectives praised Phelps’ skills constantly. Even Leary, fucking Leary, couldn’t get over how amazing Phelps was. 

Leary didn’t even look at Bekowsky anymore. As he assigned their cases at the morning briefing, he stared straight at Phelps as though Bekowsky was invisible. Just an hour ago, standing in the viaduct, Bekowsky had looked right at Phelps and said, “That was textbook policing and we need more of it in this department.” Then the bastard _smirked_ in Bekowsky’s general direction and walked away. 

Bekowsky hadn’t been able to bring himself to meet his colleagues for drinks as he usually did on Friday nights. He couldn’t stand to see their smug faces as they talked about how Cole Phelps was the greatest police officer to ever walk the face of the Earth. Tonight would be the third night in as many weeks that he’d skipped out on. 

As he glanced at his desk for messages, he saw a scrap of lined paper printed (in Leary’s very distinctive hand) with a single word: DRINKS? Thinking of all the times he had been ready to punch his coworkers during the last few weeks, he took some pleasure in ripping the paper to shreds and scattering the pieces all over Phelps’ desk. 

He drove home, still fuming, to add some whiskey to the anger already churning in his gut. Sitting in his comfortable armchair with a bottle in his hand, he once again analyzed the situation. Damnit, he shouldn’t feel like such a failure. He knew he was a good cop. Phelps was new and doing a great job. The man deserved a little praise. 

Bekowsky couldn’t understand why he was this upset. He wasn’t an attention whore. Who cared if he wasn’t being acknowledged? Work was still getting done, bad guys were being put away, and the citizens of the city were a little safer every day. That’s what mattered.

Bullshit. He was only human. And short of behaving like a child, pulling on cops’ pant legs and shouting, “Look at me! Look at me!” he knew that there was nothing much he could do about the situation. Except drink until he forgot about it. Just as his head started to droop toward his chest, he was startled by a loud pounding on his door.

Bekowsky’s plans to ignore the interloper were dashed when he heard, “Bekowsky? It’s Leary. What is wrong with you? Open the goddamned door! I’ll knock all night if I have to!”

Shit. What did _he_ want? “Go away,” he shouted at his boss, alcohol fueling his courage. “I don’t have anything to say to you!”

Bekowsky closed his eyes and took another pull from his rapidly emptying bottle of whiskey. Eventually, the knocking faded and died, and as he drifted off into sleep, he tried hard to pretend he wasn’t upset that Leary had given up so easily.

\-----

“Jesus, Bekowsky.” 

Bekowsky woke with a start to see Leary standing in front of him. His alcohol-saturated brain tried to process what he was seeing. How…why…when? Leary seemed to understand and told him, “I got your landlord to let me in. Told him it was official police business.”

What the hell? Why was Leary so intent on driving him crazy? It was Friday night, for christssakes! Shouldn’t he be anywhere but here in Bekowsky’s tiny apartment?

“Get out.” Bekowsky was pleased to hear that his voice didn’t shake as he stared down his captain.

“What is wrong with you? You’ve been acting so differently lately. You don’t come to the bar with us, you won’t talk to anybody, and Phelps says-” 

Bekowsky could feel his face becoming more and more flushed as he started to yell. “Phelps? Phelps? _Fuck_ Phelps! I don’t want to hear another damn word about him! You’d think he was some kind of god the way you assholes go on about him.”

The whiskey seemed to have removed all filters from his brain. Words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could even think about what he was saying. The thought that screaming at his boss probably wasn’t a great idea never even crossed his mind. 

“Why are you even here? What do you want from me? Christ, Leary, you don’t even talk to me anymore you’re so busy telling Phelps how fucking great he is. I thought we were friends but now that you’ve got such a hard-on for Phelps you won’t even look at me!”

Leary’s mouth opened and closed a few times. He walked to the kitchenette and sat heavily on one of the two folding chairs, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. After taking a few deep breaths, he looked up and said, “Sometimes you can be so stupid.”

Bekowsky felt something snap inside his chest as he saw red and flew toward Leary, fists ready. He was so angry that he could imagine the satisfying crunch of Leary’s nose breaking under his hands. He covered the distance from his chair to the kitchen quickly, ready to strike. 

Unfortunately, his heavily inebriated brain had other ideas. Instead of a quick dash to the other man followed by a flurry of punches, he tripped over his own legs and fell to the linoleum floor at Leary’s feet.

Leary quickly reached down to pull his friend to his feet. Bekowsky pushed him off, attempting a few ineffective punches to Leary’s stomach. Leary grabbed Bekowsky by the shoulders and shook him. “Knock it off! You’re so drunk you’re just going to hurt yourself!”

Bekowsky shrugged out of Leary’s grasp and tried to knock him off balance. He kicked at Leary’s legs, threw more increasingly angry punches, and even attempted to use his forehead as a battering ram against Leary’s chest. He was so furious that he was practically spitting. 

The two men struggled for control, Leary trying to do nothing more than contain Bekowsky’s anger as their fight moved from the kitchenette to the rest of the apartment. Bekowsky began to lose steam as he realized his drunken state was preventing him from doing any real damage. Leary took advantage of the other man’s decrease in stamina to push him back onto his unmade bed. 

Bekowsky half-heartedly tried to rise to continue the fight but eventually fell back on his elbows and settled for glaring at his captain and mumbling something that sounded a lot like, “Call me stupid – you’re stupid.”

“Bekowsky, listen to me.”

Bekowsky turned his head and did his best to ignore his boss. Leary angrily grabbed Bekowsky by the chin and turned his head back toward him. “Listen to me. I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not stupid. It’s just…” His voice trailed off as he blushed and stared at the floor as though something very interesting was hidden in the carpet’s pattern. 

“Bekowsky...” he started again. Raising his gaze to his detective’s eyes, he continued. “Stefan.”

Something about the way Leary said his name caused Bekowsky to swallow thickly.

“Stefan,” he continued, “I’m so sorry. This is all a big misunderstanding. I never meant for you to think that you don’t matter or that I think Phelps is a better detective than you.”

“Oh, really?” Bekowsky was still royally pissed. “It certainly seems like you did. Why else do you compliment every damn thing that he does and act like I don’t exist?”

Leary sighed heavily and sat down next to Bekowsky on the bed, his face pointed away from him.

“I don’t know how to say this. Just listen, please.”

Bekowsky sat up, his anger fading in the face of his curiosity. What kind of excuse was Leary going to come up with for making his old friend feel like shit for weeks?

“I don’t think Phelps is a better detective than you. I think you’re a great cop. And I’m sorry you felt like I was ignoring you, but I guess I was. If I gave Phelps too much praise, it was because I didn’t want to give _you_ too much. I didn’t want…”

Bekowsky’s brain was not working well enough to follow Leary’s logic. He waited, hoping things would start to make sense soon.

“This isn’t coming out right. I didn’t want people seeing me giving you too much attention. I didn’t want anybody to know…” 

As Leary’s voice trailed off again, Bekowsky felt very stupid, as though he were missing something extremely important. His recent exertions, combined with the volume of whiskey he’d consumed, were quickly lulling him to sleep. The two men sat in silence for a few moments.

Leary broke the calm by turning to face Bekowsky. “Bekowsky… _Stefan_ …I’m in love with you.”

Bekowsky was too exhausted to process this information and instead fell back onto his pillow and immediately sank into a dreamless sleep.

\-----

He woke sluggishly, almost having to force his eyes open. It was still dark and, for once, the neighborhood was quiet. Mercifully, the hangover he’d been expecting wasn’t manifesting itself. Hell, maybe he was still drunk. 

A quiet sound from across the apartment made Bekowsky jump, suddenly alert. He sat up quickly and was confused to see his boss sitting slumped against the wall with a miserable look on his face. 

“Leary? What’s going on?” Bekowsky had no idea why Leary was in his apartment in the middle of the night.

“You…you don’t remember?” Leary looked almost hopeful. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bekowsky snarled as he managed to swing his legs over to the side of the bed so that he could face the man he was fighting – were they fighting? – with. Why was Leary acting like this?

“I was worried about you, so I came to see you after work. Your landlord let me in. Then you tried to fight with me and then…that’s it,” Leary finished lamely. 

“Why did I want to fight with you? What the fuck is going on here?” 

Leary sat silently, but Bekowsky could almost hear the thoughts whirling around in the other man’s head. Why was he thinking so hard? What was he trying to hide from his old friend? Suddenly, Bekowsky remembered the anger. The reason he had started drinking tonight. Running across the apartment toward Leary, wanting to hurt him. Leary sitting on his bed and telling him…something. That something was important, he knew. What had Leary said? And why was he so eager to hide it now? 

“Gordon, please tell me what’s going on,” Bekowsky begged. “Why did we fight? And what did you tell me that was so important? Damnit, why can’t I remember?”

Leary’s face seemed to drain of all color as he slowly lifted his head to meet Bekowsky’s gaze. “I don’t think we should talk about it. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Bekowsky heaved himself off the bed and moved to kneel in front of Leary. Leary’s head dropped and he refused to look Bekowsky in the eye. “It’s not important,” he mumbled. 

Bekowsky’s head was beginning to ache, whether from the liquor or the conversation, he wasn’t sure. But he was quickly running out of patience. He was seconds from grabbing Leary by the tie and hauling him to his feet for Round Two when Leary looked up at Bekowsky’s face. 

“Shit,” Leary breathed, “you hurt yourself when you fell.” And before Bekowsky could say anything, Leary ran his thumb soothingly along Bekowsky’s cheekbone. Bekowsky’s breath caught in his chest as he suddenly remembered what Leary had told him earlier and seemed not to want him to know now. 

“You – you love me?” Bekowsky asked. 

Leary blushed and let his hand fall into his lap. “Just forget it. Please.”

Bekowsky retreated to his bed. His head was spinning and he couldn’t process what was going on. His boss and good friend – in love with him? Had all of those barroom conversations, lips close to ears to be heard over the noise, meant more to Leary than to Bekowsky? All of those claps on the back, the eye rolls from across the office when dealing with their too-talkative coworkers, the inside jokes, the slights on each other’s masculinity delivered on the basketball court – had that been _flirting_? How long had Leary felt this way?

And then, a sudden, sharp _snap_ in his chest. What kind of friend catalogues all of the looks and jokes and touches between the two of them? Why had he been so upset when Leary seemed to be ignoring him? Did he – was he – did he feel the same way about his boss? 

Bekowsky’s brain stuttered to a halt and his body took over. He, for the second time that night, raced across the room to throw himself at Leary. However, instead of leading with his fists, this time he threaded his fingers into the red hair at the back of Leary’s neck and pulled him close, smashing their lips together. 

Leary sputtered and pushed him back. “Bekowsky? What the fuck?”

“No, c’mon, please…,” Bekowsky begged as he attempted to pull Leary back toward him. Now that he’d realized how he felt about the other man, he couldn’t have stopped for anything. 

“We can’t – you’re not – this is,” was all that Leary was able to choke out before Bekowsky succeeded in sealing their lips together again. All of Leary’s protests were ignored as Bekowsky’s tongue slid across his lips, gently demanding entrance. His mouth opened and he swallowed a moan as his tongue met Bekowsky’s. 

Although Bekowsky had just realized a few moments ago that he wanted this, he was surprised at _how much_ he wanted this. He couldn’t get enough of the feeling of Leary’s mouth on his. It was a heady combination of the sweetness of a first kiss and the passion borne of weeks, months, _years_? of wanting. 

Realizing that kneeling on the floor was not the most comfortable of positions to continue their kissing, Bekowsky pushed gently on Leary’s shoulders as he stood, helped Leary to his feet, and then grabbed his tie to pull him across the room to the bed. Perhaps realizing that Bekowsky was a willing participant and that he was not just taking advantage of his drunken friend, Leary became more aggressive, pushing Bekowsky down to the mattress and wasting no time lowering himself onto the other man. 

They returned to kissing, their mouths moving desperately against each other as Leary’s hands wormed their way under Bekowsky’s shirts, caressing the smooth muscles of his stomach and chest. He sat up, drawing a brief moan from Bekowsky, and attempted to unbutton Bekowsky’s shirt, his fingers clumsy. Bekowsky growled something that sounded like, “Who cares about the goddamn shirt?” so Leary gave up on the buttons, ripping the first few from the shirt in his eagerness to just get the button-down and undershirt _off_. 

When both shirts had been pulled over Bekowsky’s head, Leary wasted no time in continuing his exploration of Bekowsky’s torso, this time with his tongue. He licked a long line from the hollow of Bekowsky’s throat to his navel and then back up until Bekowsky was practically whining with need. 

Collapsing on top of Bekowsky, Leary again captured his mouth in a searing kiss while simultaneously rolling his hips down and forward to meet Bekowsky’s. Bekowsky hissed as their fully-clothed cocks met for the first time, pulling his mouth from Leary’s to cry, “Jesus, Gordon!” 

Leary continued to slowly grind himself against a nearly speechless Bekowsky who was unable to do anything but raise his own hips to meet Leary’s. Bekowsky had never felt anything like this before; it was almost as if liquid fire was coursing through his veins. _How can it feel this good with our pants still on_? he wondered briefly. As if he had heard the question, Leary slid his hands down Bekowsky’s sides to curl under the waistbands of his pants and shorts. 

Leary rose to his knees to devote himself to the task of unzipping Bekowsky’s pants. Bekowsky, moaning a little at the loss of contact, watched, wide-eyed, as Leary slid the pants down his legs and pulled them off. As Leary’s fingers caressed his calves and then his thighs through the material of his shorts, Bekowsky suddenly saw clearly through the haze of kissing and touching and _wanting_. 

“Stop.”

Leary’s face crumpled and he immediately dropped his hands from Bekowsky’s legs and backed away. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he turned to slide off the bed.

“Damnit, Gordon, I don’t want you to stop!” Bekowsky smiled shyly as he said, “I just don’t think it’s fair that I’m almost naked and you have all of your clothes on.”

Leary’s eyes grew wide and his face lit up as though he had just been given everything that he ever wanted. In what seemed like seconds, his pants, socks, tie, and shirt were gone and he was back on top of Bekowsky, sliding one of his legs in between the other man’s thighs. Bekowsky, shocked by the feeling of only a thin layer of cloth between them, pumped his hips against Leary’s thigh, feeling like a horny high school boy again but not much caring. 

Leary continued to map the terrain of Bekowsky’s upper body with his mouth. He kissed, licked, sucked, and bit at Bekowsky’s neck and shoulders before sliding lower to run first his thumb, then his tongue over a nipple, causing Bekowsky to arch up and release the filthiest string of curses that Leary had ever heard outside of the local lockup. 

Bekowsky had, until this point, seemed content to let Leary take the lead. But his reaction to that feather-light caress of tongue across his nipple (an area he had never considered particularly sensitive) drove him forward. He placed his hands on Leary’s back, earning an appreciative groan from the other man. Bekowsky slowly slid his hands toward Leary’s waist, and then, emboldened by the fact that Leary seemed to be enjoying himself, reached lower to grab Leary’s ass. 

“Oh, Christ – Stefan!” Leary rolled off to the side and, without warning, palmed Bekowsky’s cock through his shorts. Eyes closed, mouth forming a small “Oh,” of ecstasy, Bekowsky shamelessly thrust against the warmth of Leary’s hand, coming closer and closer to the edge with each movement. 

Leary removed his hand and Bekowsky nearly sobbed with the loss of sensation. Eyes still closed, he felt the bed dip and heard Leary moving, unaware of what was happening until he felt Leary’s fingers at the waistband of his shorts. 

“Stefan. Look at me.” 

Bekowsky opened his eyes to see a completely naked Leary crouched over him, staring at his face. “Stefan, are you sure you want this? We can stop any time. I don’t want to force you into anything.”

Bekowsky attempted to answer by pulling Leary down for another kiss, but Leary held back. 

“I mean it. Think with your brain and not your cock for a second. Stefan, this will change everything between us.”

Bekowsky blinked a few times and then quietly said, “Yes, Gordon. Yes.”

Leary ripped Bekowsky’s shorts down his legs and positioned his body over the other man’s, watching Bekowsky’s eyes widen as the distance between them shrank. When the two men’s cocks met, Bekowsky’s groan could have been heard by all of his neighbors, but he didn’t care. As Leary thrust gently against him, their cocks rubbing in a delicious friction, Bekowsky pulled Leary’s head toward his to gasp in his ear, “I never knew it could be like this. It’s so…so _good_!” The last word came out almost as a scream as Leary slid his hand between their bodies to grasp Bekowsky’s length. He stroked gently, causing Bekowsky’s eyes to roll back in his head. 

Bekowsky was in heaven. Until Leary, that bastard, stopped again. Sputtering nonsense, Bekowsky attempted to ask why he’d taken his hand away but stopped when he saw Leary inching back toward the foot of the bed and lowering his lips to Bekowsky’s thigh. Bekowsky watched, wide-eyed, as Leary planted kisses at the junction of his thigh and pelvis, lips dangerously close to Bekowsky’s aching cock. His ragged moans filled the room as Leary continued to tease, lips and tongue never quite touching what he so desperately wanted to have touched.

Without warning, Leary licked a hot, wet line along the underside of Bekowsky’s cock, causing him to actually scream this time while the force of his thrusting hips leaving the mattress nearly threw Leary from the bed. Leary laughed, practically _purred_ , “Oh, you liked that, did you?” and slid Bekowsky’s entire length into his mouth. 

“Gordon!” Bekowsky almost came right then into the hot, wet cave of Leary’s mouth. How could anything feel this good? Leary moved slowly, cupping Bekowsky’s balls with one hand and wrapping the other around the base of his cock, lips meeting hand on each stroke. 

Bekowsky had been reduced to a quivering, moaning mess of a man. Leary realized that his friend was too close to the edge and slowed his movements to a stop. Bekowsky’s, “Oh don’t stop please don’t stop Gordon never stop please,” was the only sound in the apartment. 

Leary looked around wildly, eyes landing on a jar of hand cream on the nightstand. He leaned over Bekowsky, who was now groaning out curses under his breath, to grab the jar. 

Leary’s eyes sought Bekowsky’s as he leaned in to give him a quick kiss and said, “Stefan, I need you inside me.”

For the second time that evening, Bekowsky almost came just from the sound of Leary’s voice. He fought himself for control as Leary began to coat his cock with the floral-scented cream, hips jerking involuntarily under Leary’s talented hands. 

Apparently satisfied with his work, Leary rolled over to lie next to Bekowsky. The men spent a few moments kissing until Bekowsky pulled away breathlessly and climbed on top of Leary. Leary smiled, grabbed one of Bekowsky’s pillows, and arranged it under his own hips. He bent his knees and quietly said, “Stefan. I’m ready. Please.”

Bekowsky groaned as he draped his body over Leary’s, desperately trying to control himself as he pushed gently against Leary’s opening.

“I’m not a girl, you know. I won’t break,” snorted Leary.

“Oh yeah?” Bekowsky grinned. “You sure about that?” He pushed harder until he was – _holy shit_ – inside Leary. He pushed in inch by inch as he tried desperately to last and (hopefully) make Leary feel as good as he felt. The tight heat gripping his cock was unbelievable. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced and yet exactly what he wanted. 

When Bekowsky was fully seated inside him, Leary moaned, wrapping his legs around Bekowsky’s back and attempting to push back on Bekowsky to get him to move. Bekowsky hesitated, mostly because he wasn’t sure how long he could last, but partly because he wanted to prolong this feeling forever. 

“Stefan, please! Just move!” Leary begged. 

“I – I won’t last!” 

“Neither will I! Please, Stefan. Please! Just fuck me!”

It was that one moaned exclamation – _Just fuck me_! – that spurred Bekowsky into action. He slowly pulled out and thrust quickly back in, reveling in Leary’s ragged moans. As he neared his climax, he realized belatedly that while he might be having the time of his life, Leary’s untouched cock was bumping against his stomach with every thrust. Leary had not wanted to pressure him tonight, he realized, and now it was up to Bekowsky to decide what he was willing to do.

Stefan Bekowsky had wrestled suspects on rooftops and been shot at. He started each day not knowing whether he would be alive at the end. But the scariest thing he had ever done was reach for the hand cream and begin to stroke Leary’s cock. 

“Oh, fuck! Stefan!” Leary’s scream echoed through the room as he came in a scalding wash over Bekowsky’s hand. 

There was no way Bekowsky could have held back at that point. As Leary came, he tensed around Bekowsky’s cock in what felt like the most glorious massage ever. Bekowsky came harder than he ever had in his life, screaming Leary’s name. 

Bekowsky collapsed onto Leary, staring into his eyes. Leary’s eyes appeared to be glistening with unshed tears, and Bekowsky was suddenly worried. 

“Gordon? Did I do something wrong? Oh, God, did I hurt you?”

Leary quickly reached up to kiss Bekowsky, wincing slightly as Bekowsky slid out from inside him. “No, no. I was just…it was just…it was perfect.” 

“So why are you upset?”

Leary refused to meet Bekowsky’s eyes as he said, “I love you, Stefan. If this is all we can ever have – I don’t know. I just want to remember this moment.”

“Gordon.” Bekowsky pronounced his name with such intensity that Leary sat up and looked at him. Bekowsky knelt next to him and leaned in to cup his cheek, running a thumb along Leary’s lips. “Gordon, I love you.”


End file.
